by Teagan Kade
I make a coffee, slowly making my way back to my desk when I hear Lewis’s voice booming through the office. “Erin, get in here!”
Shitballs.
I know from that simple sentence my article has gone down as well as a cup of puke. “Coming!” I shout back, never enjoying the sound of my voice when it’s raised.
And it’s not just me that knows. The whole office is there to witness my walk of shame. I do my best to ignore them, knocking on the glass window of Lewis’s office.
He waves me in, purveying his laptop screen. The guy’s an Apple freak. He’s got the watch, the laptop, the phone, the tablet. I’m pretty sure if I pulled down his pants Tim Cook’s face would be smiling on back. “Erin, Erin, Erin,” he starts, tapping his desk for emphasis.
I was never privy to the principal’s office in school, but it sure as hell feels like I’ve walked into it now.
I take a cautious seat — the only seat.
We stare at each other. He’s not saying anything.
“You read the draft?” I offer.
“I did,” and his tone is neutral, giving me hope it’s not as bad as it seems. “To be frank, it’s fucking boring.”
I cringe internally but manage to squeak out, “How so?”
“I mean, it’s hardly a revelation that college students, particularly the high-strung athletic elite of Crestfall, are getting drunk and screwing each other on the weekends and evenings, is it? I could load up Porky’s to see that, couldn’t I? Hell, give me any college movie and it would be more entertaining than this drivel.” He prods at his screen while he says it.
I try not to sound too desperate. “It’s just a draft. I can rework it.”
He slaps his laptop closed and leans over it. “What it needs is that personal feel I like to talk about around here. It needs intimacy.”
I swallow hard doing my best not to betray myself, because I’m getting intimate alright. It’s not possible to get any more intimate.
“Who’s the blockhead quarterback guy again?” Lewis asks.
“Peyton King?”
Lewis is standing now, pacing, the ideas coming thick and fast. “Yes, that’s him. You already quoted him in the article, right?”
It was a quote about football, nothing personal. “Yes.”
“So, keep digging. Use him, Erin.”
I almost crack up, choking to get the words out. “Use him?”
“What? You feel guilty about it? Fuck him. Think about how many girls he has used and spat out for his own gratification. Doesn’t that piss you off? Doesn’t it make you angry?”
Lewis, as much as I hate to admit it, does have a point. Maybe I’m not seeing the forest for the trees here. Peyton has used girls before, bragged about it openly, and maybe even used me given the radio silence today. I’m forgetting what’s important here — a quick fling with King Dong or my entire future.
He's a player, my head interjects. You’ll just be delivering him a big, fat karma sandwich.
That’s until I remember the night at the carnival, the way he opened up and made himself vulnerable. There was no malicious intent there. It was genuine.
I’m still torn. As much as I try to rationalize it I’m kidding myself if I think he hasn’t had some kind of impact on me, that hiding behind all that college bravado there’s a genuine human being there who hurts and feels like everyone else, who might actually want me, long-term, without strings, someone who…
Ah, hell. My head’s a warzone. I’m almost relived when Lewis snaps me out of it.
“Think about it,” he says, “but whatever you decide, I hope to Our Lord and Savior it’s a lot better than what you’ve brought me today.” He taps the laptop. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t wipe my ass with this.”
With your laptop? I wonder.
I nod and take my leave, heading outside for some fresh air instead of facing the office minions. Let them say what they want behind my back.
I sit on the same bench Peyton did when he waited out here for me, when he asked for a second chance. Am I really going to betray him like this, betray his trust? I don’t do back-stabbing. Even in high school I thought the best of people. Mean Girl X would shove me into the lockers and I’d tell myself ‘Oops, she must have slipped.’ I want to see the best of people and it’s blinded me in the past to what they really are. I can’t have that any longer. I need to see.
The question remains then, am I going to use what Peyton gave me? There was certainly gold there for the taking.
Yes. Yes, you are because this is bigger than your sex life and happiness.
This article has to be the greatest thing I have written, full stop. It’s got to shock and entertain and stir up emotion, not matter how painful or confronting. Again, Lewis is right. That draft contained nothing new, nothing edgy or in-your-face. I need a star attraction. I need Peyton front and center. The consequences can be dealt with later, Pacemaker pretty in my hand.
In action mode, I whip out my cell and text Peyton, ask him out tonight. I’m still not one-hundred-percent comfortable with this course of action, but I can at least test it out, put a few thoughts down and see where they lead.
See where his fingers lead, more like it.
As much as I’m enjoying my sudden sexual awakening, I shut down that side of myself and stare at the cell screen, but no reply is forthcoming.
Fifteen minutes later I return to my desk, but still nothing.
Finishing up for the day, and…
…nada.
In fact, I don’t hear back from Peyton at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PEYTON
It’s been days since I’ve spoken to Erin. I thought I was mentally strong, prepared for this shit, but I’m close to breaking point. If this keeps up any longer I’m pretty sure my dick’s going to grow legs and go running after her without me.
Over and over I’ve asked myself how this self-imposed ban makes any kind of fucking sense until I think on the things I said to her, the way I let her into places no one has been before. She’s seen weakness, vulnerability. For a King, that shit doesn’t fly. We keep the demons locked down and out of sight. It’s best that way.
For the thousandth time today I pull out my cell and reread her text. I don’t know what I think this will achieve, that the letters will suddenly rearrange themselves and provide the illumination I’m looking for.
I flinch at a baseball bat comes crashing down into the cushion beside me, Titus leaping over the sofa to sit beside me.
He looks at the TV. “Um, you know it’s not actually on, right?”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Haven’t you got some ball buddies to go play catch with?”
“Shit,” he says, “why do that when I could hang around with Mopey McFuckface here? We all got girl problems, bro, but you’re the only one of us sitting here like the world has ended. What’d she do? Chop your cock off?”
“You’re real fucking funny, you know that? This is my place, by the way. The only reason I gave you assholes a key is to keep Dad off my back.”
“It is delightfully close to campus.”
Titus has always been something of a jokester, the shit-stirrer of the family. The amount of times I’d wake up with short sheets or a fake dog turd under my pillow. I’d have wrung his neck twenty times over if I could actually catch him. But he’s fast. I mean, we’re all fast, but Titus is built for speed, just blasts about the baseball diamond like it was Silverstone Circuit.
Titus pushes himself off the sofa and stands with his beloved bat over his shoulder. It’s got ‘Good Night’ written on it in bold black text, just like Harley Quinn’s. Titus loves his anti-heroes. “She’s messing with your mind, my good brother. We both know the female species are famed for their Jedi mind tricks, but we’re Kings. We’re immune to that shit.” He looks at me with uncertainty. “Right?”
I throw my cell down beside me. “I don’t know. I’m trying to detox, but it’s not working. I’ve gone in cold turke
y and all I’m coming out with is blue balls.”
He squats down in front of me. With that mess of hair and dark King eyes, I can see why he’s a hit amongst the junior girls. “You know what Doctor Titus recommends?”
“Rest, relaxation, and a fireball to wash it all down?”
He shakes his head. “No.” He points his bat towards the general direction of campus. You’re going to go out there and find this girl. When you do, you’re going to fuck her so hard she’ll be stumbling around campus like Stevie Wonder, seeing stars. I’m talking a fucking that’ll send her back to the stone age. You with me?”
I nod, unsure.
“If she’s still in your head after that, then yeah, fireballs all around, but at least stop staring at yourself in the TV screen and get some fucking sunshine. You’re starting to look like a male Anna Kendrick or some shit. It’s depressing.”
“You’ve made your point.”
He swings his bat. It stops an inch from my head. I don’t flinch. You’ve got to be used to flying objects around here. “Have I?”
I push the bat away and stand. “See? I’m getting up. You happy?”
He starts to walk off towards the kitchen, no doubt to empty my fridge, bat swinging all the while. “I’m happy when you’re happy.”
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, reaching over the sofa for the cell as soon as he’s gone, but nothing’s changed. The message remains, the question mark at the end of it begging me for an answer, imploring me to respond.
Tragic as Titus is, he isn’t completely wrong. Perhaps I’ve been worrying for nothing. Am I really going to fall for someone this early in the game, even someone as great as Erin?
I chew it over, holding the cell now with two hands and thinking over my next course of action.
Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?
My fingers work fast. I text her that I’m sorry, that I was busy studying (no better excuse forming in my bog pit of a brain), that yeah, I’d love to go out, kiss emoji, wink emoji, looking for a third but giving up.
The text goes out and I have to throw the cell back onto the sofa, pacing around the room with my hands on my head.
My cell chimes and I race for it, confident in the knowledge whatever transpires next, no one gets inside my head. My pants? Free for all, but my head? That’s strictly off limits.
*
I’m still um-ing and ah-ing over it a half hour before she’s due to arrive. What follows is too much pacing around the house tidying and putting things right, any excuse to occupy my hands and mind before she gets here.
Because I’m not going to be seduced.
I’m stronger than that.
I hear the doorbell and my chest tightens.
I don’t even bother turning on the lights downstairs I’m in such a rush to open the door.
The second I swing it wide, all that thinking, all that self-control, flies out the fucking window.
She’s in jeans and a cut-off tee, her hair loose around her shoulders.
I don’t know what to say. I simply reach forward and kiss her.
After that, it’s done.
I fucking need her now — wet, ready, pleading for my cock.
She’s the first to break the kiss, spinning away from me saying, “Why don’t I get us a nightca—”
But I don’t let her finish. I take her by the throat and pull her around back towards me, kissing her hard and letting my tongue push against hers, wrestle in the hot heat of her mouth.
I drive her against the wall, pinning her wrists high above her head with one hand, pulling back so my lips barely brush hers.
A couple of days without her and I’ve turned into a fucking animal.
Her eyes flash in the darkness, needy. Her head snaps forward, eager to deepen the kiss, but I pull back smirking, let her keep trying as my free hand moves between us to work at the button of her jeans.
I leave my lips tantalizing close to hers. “I’ve been hard for days,” I breathe, watching her carefully.
The energy in her body is palpable… hot. It’s like I’m pressed up against an oven.
The button on her jeans pop free. I take hold of the waistband, hook my fingers into her panties and tug them down together. I jerk them roughly down her thighs, tugging and pulling until they’re splayed between her knees, her bare sex at the ready.
I’m not about to disappoint.
She hasn’t spoken yet, but her body’s giving off all the right signals. I don’t need to touch her to know she’s already wet.
I run my hand slowly up her inner thigh. I shift it towards her sex and then veer left, continuing up under her shirt and the wire of her bra, the cup popping upwards and my hand filled with the heavy weight of her breast.
I bring my lips to her ear, whispering while I play with her nipple. “Did you miss me?”
She nods.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes,” she says, voice syrupy with need.
“I said, I can’t hear you.”
Her reply comes in an explosion of breath. “Yes.”
I bring my hand back down into the hot space between her legs, my fingers sliding easily into her core. She gasps, thrusting forward to meet them.
She’s beyond wet. Her arousal drips down my wrist, my fingers already two knuckles deep, curling up against the front wall of her pussy, my thumb against her clit.
“God,” she moans, eyes shuttering closed.
I know I’m undoing her, that this might be moving too fast, but I don’t fucking care. Need has overtaken wisdom and I’d do anything, cut my own arm off, if it meant being back inside her.
Fuck the slow burn.
I let go of her pinned wrists and draw my fingers from her, lifting her shirt with both hands as quickly as I can, forcing my mouth against hers and letting my tongue dart past her lips. I break apart to pull her shirt free and toss it to the side, pulling off my own with a bent shoulder and working on my jeans, everything a blurry tangle of clothes and buttons and underwear stripped to the floor.
She touches my chest, two hands planted against it, and I almost lose control. Her touch alone takes me somewhere else entirely. The restraint I thought I had is lost, cast out into the ocean.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get it back.
I take her neck, pulling her into the kiss, using my free hand to lever up her thigh, pinning it between us as my fingers find themselves inside her again, the tight press of her pussy.
I let my thumb stroke her clit, wait until her breathing halts. It’s dark, but I don’t need light to imagine the way her skin flushes at my touch, the sudden blush filling her cheeks.
Her legs start to shake against me, quivering in the darkness. She’s close, but I don’t want her to come yet.
I pull back and see her open mouth, the animal hunger in her eyes — eyes cast black in the night.
She falls to her knees in front of me, taking my cock in her hand and bringing my swollen erection to her mouth.
I’d protest if it didn’t feel so fucking amazing.
She devours my length, possessed. She pumps and strokes, licking and lathing at my cock, savoring the pearly drops of arousal that emerge from its tip, tongue sweeping over her lower lip.
I let my fingers rake through her hair, gather them into a fist and bring her back up until she’s standing. Possibilities stream into my head. I could have her any way, anywhere, but there’s too much to process.
Her lips are urgent on mine, the moaning between us growing into an ever-increasing crescendo. The middle of my shaft taps against her clit, my balls drawn tight to my body.
I circle her waist and spin her so she’s facing the wall, kicking her legs apart with my feet and pushing her forwards so her ass is rounded out to me.
There’s no need to waste time. I take hold of myself and guide my cock between those glorious cheeks, find her opening and thrust forward, a flood of wetness greeting me.
She exhales
, cheek pressed against the wall as I heave forward.
I make each thrust slow and long, our bodies fused together with lust and heat, the back of my thighs stiffening each time I plunge into her.
Hands on her hips, I pull her onto my cock, thrusting harder and faster now, running hot kisses from her shoulder blade to the top of her spine.
Her body shudders against me, working to deepen the penetration, to take all of me.
The sound of fucking fills the room, the wet pull and drag of my cock from her body. “Do you know how fucking wet you are for me?” I tell her, knowing she’s panting too hard to respond.
“You want all of my cock, don’t you, baby?”
I thrust upwards as I say it, the last inch or two of my member sliding deep into her body. She gasps, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught.
I remove a hand from her hip and let it run around to the front of her, circle her clit with the pads of my fingers as I fuck her from behind.
I hold her left breast with my free hand, catching the nipple of it between thumb and forefinger, pulling it taut and then letting it snap back into position.
She arches her back further, pushing back against each thrust with a punctuated ‘uh,’ her body responding to mine and the two of us working as one machine of pleasure, push and pull, push and pull until my own core tightens and I know I won’t be able to hold myself much longer.
She tenses and relaxes, her breast filling my palm, my three fingers working as one to play with her clit. I grunt, the slap of skin on skin the finest soundtrack I’ve ever heard.
I bring my head forward and let my teeth drag across her shoulder, anything to distract and delay the inevitable, because I want this to last forever. I don’t ever want it to stop.
I have to see her. I pull out and take her arm, flipping her around to face me, to see the soft features of her face, hair framed around it. I take her ass in my hands and lift her up around my waist, slamming her against the wall and sliding deep inside her slickness.
Her head falls, buried into the crook of my neck, lips against the muscles straining there.
